There is a cake. There is a beautiful, rounded Vanilla swiss buttercream well-iced cake That they gave to you.
This cake makes me miss you Makes me miss running my fingers Throughout your hair And gently pressing my own soft lips To yours, Instead of your lips pressing this stupid cake. And I know that you love it. And I know that if you do not have every ounce You will starve.
I was jealous of this cake, I admit Jealous indeed of the shiny new replacement They gave for you for my love It made you feel good inside and out, as well Enriched your brain, and your appetite I was jealous and stole a slice in spite of you.
Then I realized, that you love this cake You have waited for this cake, every year Every birthday Hoping for the envelope informing you That the time for cake was now That the cake WAS your time, now, and that All of you was invested, in this succulent dessert And you needed to keep as much as you could, for your sake, I came to accept the fact, that you needed so.
But like your hair, I brush this cake with the tips of my fingers, I taste this cake I understand the sweetness you enjoy and the sanctity of it being left alone
But if I dare to kiss this cake because I adore the things you care about so much and some icing comes onto my lips Have I stolen something from you?